Home
by TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites
Summary: A short, fluffy glimpse into the lives of Day and June, eight years after they left us at the end of Champion. While looking for a new home for her family, June stumbles upon the apartment where Metias had raised her. This is a story of how she brings her thoughts of 'home' to a full circle, and how the Wing-Iparis clan find their forever family home. Dedicated to LilaJune.
1. June

**Disclaimer: Legend Trilogy and its characters belong to Marie Lu. I made up the three children and the dog; they aren't characters from the original series.**

**This fic wouldn't have been written if not for LilaJune, who came up with an insanely brilliant idea of how to solve my plot/character motivation problem. Commander, you're such an amazing friend.**

* * *

**June**

**Ruby Sector, Los Angeles  
****June 30  
****01:44 hours  
****61F outside/ 71F indoors**

Tonight, I'm coming back to a place from my childhood.

It was where I'd lived throughout my blissful childhood. The place where my brother had raised me in our parents' stead. The place where I'd last seen him. The place where I'd learned the truth of his death and those of our parents; how and why they were gone. The place where I shattered the shining glass and took a grand leap into the bittersweet adventure which made me the woman I am now.

The place which used to be _home._

I'd kept a distance from it since I left to save the boy who _didn't _kill my brother. It was one of the least logical choices for those first few weeks on the run; and the least comfortable place to be, emotionally, later as the storm died down. It was hard to think of my bedroom without recalling all those times Metias had tucked me in; all those times he'd cared for a sick little June whilst he was supposed to be living his life. It was hard to think of the living room without recalling the hundreds of heart-to-hearts we'd had there, without tasting his hot chocolates and feeling his arms around me. It was hard to even think of that standard front door, because I knew he would never walk through it again. It was hard to see myself living between the walls which had once echoed his laughter, between his love and his secrets and the hurt he'd carried so carefully around me. On my seventeenth birthday, I made a conscious decision to sell my old home. It was gone in six weeks, straight-forward and clear. It moved on. And I moved on, taking the only piece of Metias I could bear to have: our german shepherd Ollie.

Since then, I've lived in four other Los Angeles apartments. There was the one bedroom place in Ruby, where I'd moved in with Ollie after I did the right thing and let Day go for his happiness. My next apartment was the large Batalla penthouse I'd shared with Anden in our four years together; the place where I parted with Ollie after seventeen years of laughter, tears, and stories. When Anden and I split, I moved back to Ruby, into a one-bedroom apartment which became _home _once Day came back and moved in. The latest apartment, my current home, is the place Day and I bought when we had our firstborn Dawn. The apartment was more than enough back in those early days: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a laundry, a kitchen, and a large living room for two adults and a compliant infant. Six years, two more daughters, and a golden-retriever-mix later though, what was more than enoughis no longer enough. These days, Day and I can barely go through our mornings without tripping over our golden dog Gilly, bumping our fourteen months old Maya who has just learned how to run, or having to pull our hyperactive three and half year old Rose away from her overwhelmed older sister. After a terrifying incident with our eldest two and a six-feet-tall bookcase two months ago, Day and I gave ourselves an ultimatum. We have to find our family a new home by the time Dawn starts at the elementary school this autumn. A house or apartment with four or five bedrooms, and enough breathing room for all of us.

We've been visiting Private Housing Offices to inspect listings and view pictures since, without much luck. Places with four and five bedrooms are hard to come by, let alone ones which fit our taste and safety criteria. Four weeks ago, I made a one-sided decision to quietly expand my search to include less-than-ideal places. Something I can talk Day into with enough persuasion - and _bribe; _something spacious enough for my girls to settle in, until we find a more suitable place.

Three days later, I found my childhood home on a listing in Ruby Sector Private Housing Office.

I remember the dread and unexpected joy which filled me when I saw that address near the bottom of the long list; the kaleidoscope of memories which took me over as I detoured past it on my way home that day. I was overwhelmed that it was still there, that I could look at it and think of it as my old home again. I've been coming back nearly every day since then, under the poor excuse of exercising or walking Gilly. At first, I couldn't even look up. I was terrified the world would shatter the moment I embraced this part of my past; that this bittersweet piece of memory wasn't mine to keep. As the weeks passed by, though, I became less afraid and more curious. A week ago, I stopped across the street and looked up at my old bedroom window for the first time since I last left it. It gave me a strange shiver, and when I went to bed that night, I dreamed of my brother. We were together again, sitting on our old couch with our cups of hot chocolate; my head on his shoulder. It was the first solid dream I'd had of him since I became a wife and a mother; the first Metias-dream which let me wake up with a smile. Since then, Metias has visited me thrice more in my dreams. And this afternoon, as I looked up at my old window one more time, I made my decision to truly come back.

There's always a right time for everything, I suppose.

It's 01:44 hours now, way past my family's bedtimes. I maneuver my way out of Day's possessive, comforting arms and get out of our bed; making my silent way to the girls' bathroom outside. There, inside the laundry basket, is the special suit I've hidden earlier. I put it on, and walk back to the living room where my rope launcher and knives lay hidden. I pull them out of the locked drawer underneath the bookshelf, and strap them on me carefully before I tread to my girls' bedroom to watch them for a while. There's a little worry in me, a nervous nag that one of them would be awake and ruining her routine for the rest of the day. But I guess it's just a fear, because as soon as I open the door, I can easily tell they're asleep. Dawn is tucked neatly under her blanket, her long lashes fanning her smooth cheeks. Rose is sprawled on her stomach, blanket wrapped on her waist, her right foot hanging off the edge of her toddler bed. Baby Maya is sideways in her crib, lips slightly apart, breathing slowly. The sight brings me a soft, melancholy feeling. They won't be this little for much longer. Soon, they'll start learning what the world is and who I had been before I was their mother. But right now, I'm a third of their world, and I intend to enjoy these days as much as I can.

I kiss and wave my fingers thrice - once for each of my girls - and smile as I close the door.

The living room is dark and silent. Gilly is sprawled on her bed by the window; knocked out after our long run earlier. I pat her head once, and slip my way out to the side of my apartment building. With the help of the upstairs apartments' balconies, I climb my way up to the rooftop, where my adventure will begin.

Tonight, the concrete court is dark and silent. The sky is a deep, dark, blue, specked with golden stars and streaked with wisps of cloud. Thirty floors under, the familiar streets of Ruby lie quiet in their rest, asleep alongside the rest of this sector. Soft summer wind hums in my ear - and escalates to a low screech as I zip my way to the next building's roof. Soon, the springs in my suit are bouncing, propelling me across rooftops and the occasional fire staircase. Seven minutes and forty seven seconds later, I swing that final stretch onto my first home's balcony, sweaty and warm from the workout and the thrill. A familiar, peaceful glow envelopes me as I land on the dusty tiles; and I feel my eyes welling up a little. My head knows this isn't home. My head remembers signing the ownership transfer, remembers how relieved it made me feel. But my heart still thinks this is home, still longs for it in a forlorn silence beneath the layers of thoughts and memories. Nineteen years, six months, and four days. What has happened to this home, all that time I've been away?

I shake the thoughts off, and focus on the glass door before me.

It's no longer the door I know from my childhood. One of the many owners since me had replaced it entirely; he frame and the handle and the glass itself. The room behind it is dark and empty. The lights are off and the furniture has been removed. The bedroom doors inside are open; the rooms behind them empty. For a selfish, irrational moment, I regret not trying to keep my old furniture when I had a chance. What had become of those couches where I'd had hot chocolate - and various lectures on life - with Metias? What had become of his bed, his desk, everything in his room? I hope they'd all gone to good places, to the people who really needed them. I know Metias would be happy to share his things with those in needs. That was how he was, always good, always selfless, always a better person than I am.

A single tear trickles down my face. A nostalgic sadness takes over, and for once, I decide to embrace it. For years, I have been afraid to come back. I have been too wounded, too much in pain, to revisit these good old memories. But they have been there all along, buried underneath my facades and all my thoughts, patiently lingering. I remember standing in the middle of the living room with Metias, having my first lesson in self-defense. I remember the time we had a chicken and ice cream sandwich after my Trial, the time I'd sat down on the floor and play that word game with my brother. His last kiss on my forehead, his last 'love you, Junebug'. All good, sweet memories, the things I shared with my brother. We had a good time together. And I loved all of our days together.

I wipe my face, and sit down on the floor to reminisce. I know I would not reclaim this apartment back. It is too small for my family, and I would rather see another loving family here instead of leaving it empty. But tonight, I can spare a few hours to look at it. To take in all the changes; to separate what was past and what is the present, what is logic and what are emotions. To mourn Metias - once more - at the home which was once ours. To detach my memories from my wounds; to see the apartment as the home it had been before those fateful December nights nineteen and a half years ago. To just be happy about this moment, when I look back at my life as little Junebug in this high rise apartment, a loved little girl fully unaware of where she would be at fifteen.

As the night wanes and the new day makes itself known, I swing my way back through the roofs. Today is a new day. I am going to wake up in Day's arms. Feed and hold Maya. Wipe Rose's messy face after breakfast. Put Dawn's hair in the big-girl ponytail she has always admired. Take Gilly out for a walk. And when I come back to this first home again - tomorrow, the day after, ten years later, one day - I will not let myself be sad. My brother had wanted me to be happy. And the biggest thing I can do for him, from where I am now, is to be happy.

**Next: Day**


	2. Day

**Disclaimer: **Legend and its characters belong to Marie Lu. I made up the kids and the dogs.

* * *

**Day**

It's past six AM, and June is asleep on the couch. Her sleep shirt is half-unbuttoned, showing more skin than she usually exposes when we aren't, err, _with_ each other. My main contender for her attention - our year-old kid Maya - lays face-down on her chest, dribbling what looks like drool-diluted milk. This is _something_.June had never nodded off feeding before. Looks like she indeed had an adventure in those hours she was out last night.

_My Sweetheart knows how to have fun._

I try to limit the amount of noise I make as I sit down on the other couch to watch. I'm happy to let June sleep in a bit more, before the daily mayhem starts. Between the kids, that needy dog, and her own addiction to routine, I've hardly been privileged to see June having a, well, _sexy _rest like this nowadays. What happened when she was out last night must've been extraordinary.

... Alright. I guess I should stop being a trot. I know where June went. And I sort of understand why she didn't take the rest of us with her. She's always been guarded when it comes to _that _part of her past; I shouldn't have been this jealous. Better enjoy this beautiful sight when I can, yeah?

"Daddy!"

_Goddy hell._

I move my eyes - reluctantly - off June, and turn around to face Rose. My cracked middle girl is completely awake this morning, standing between my couch and her bedroom door. Her hair's sticking up in a hundred directions; her face smudged gray with _something. _I cringe as I see her hands. I don't know what in this Republic the kid needed to draw, but she managed to get black glossy ink all over her hands - and all over her dull-green sleeping clothes.

"You drew something, yeah?" I mutter under my breath, as I get up to wrangle the wild child. Rose has got the blond dog Gilly to come over to her, and now the dog's tattered left ear is smudged grey too. I pick the kid up and take her back to her room before she wakes up her Mom. The dog skulks in behind us, butting the back of my knee - the real one - with her muzzle. Oh, well. I owe this dog some reward. It was the tracking data from her chip which told me where June had been these past few weeks, on those increasingly longer Gilly-walks.

... and, besides, it wasn't June who'd picked up a battered blond puppy from a filthy alley and brought the whining hairball home. I'm the main reason this dog is here today, looking up at me with those goddy large puppy eyes she has never grown out of.

_Alright, Gills. You win._

I let the dog climb in with my eldest Dawn - who's still asleep like the good girl she is - and say no more as I head over to Rose's bed. The inky situation in hand becomes clear as soon as I set the kid down on her mess of a bed. I mutter a curse under my breath as I see the wall above the headboard. There, drawn in black over the light yellow paint, is a gigantic stick figure with a full-body suit and a long ponytail. _Goddy hell. _We're very much screwed.

"So... Rose," I say, slowly. I run my hand on my hair, twisting words around in my head. Rose clearly meant well - she generally does. And I know June will appreciate this effort as much as I do. I just don't know what kind of bad father I would be if I don't say something about my kid's vandalism habit. "... this is a... nice picture of your Mommy."

The kid giggles and puffs her chest. "Mommy looked hot!"

"Your Mommy always looks hot, Rose," I say, running my hand on my hair - _again. _I wonder if I'd grown up this fast when I was a kid. "But let's not call her hot when we're out, yeah? Keep the good news in the family."

Rose nods and _giggles. _"Okay. Mommy was really hot. She had a hot-looking onesie on, and she had sweat on her face!"

I breathe out loud. Despite my parental responsibility to instill good moral in my kids, I can't help but feeling a little disappointed that I'd been wrong. "Like when she comes back from running?"

"Yes." The kids nods, serious. She glances at her artwork - and gets up on her feet. "I forgot the sweat. Got to draw."

"Rose," I warn her, grabbing her by the waist. "Don't."

The kid stiffens, and turns her head to me. Her bottom lip _quivers. _Damn. "But Daddy," her voice trembles, "you said it's nice picture."

_Okay. So, I fail again at this parenting thing. _"Yes, Rose." I glance at Dawn, who sleeps through my interesting exchange with her sister. If only she were awake, this would've been much easier. Dawn will know what to say to keep her sister in line. "But..."

I stop at that. The sad look in Rose's big brown eyes tells me this is beyond salvation.

"Okay, Rosie," I give up, stepping back. Let's just deal with this drawing later, when Rose's forgotten about it. "You can draw that sweat."

"Who might draw what?"

_Damn._

For some long seconds, I can only look at my wife, who stands blank-faced at the doorwith the baby in her arms. June had closed, buttoned and smoothed her shirt, and cleaned the milky stuff off Maya's face - pretty much erased the traces of her little sleep-in. She sets her eyes on Rose and I, calculating, curious. I throw the stick-figure June on the wall a quick glance, as the real June shifts her eyes toward it. She must've known what that picture is. There is no other goddy way.

"Mommy!" Rose leaps off her bed, and bounds towards the door with arms so wide open she _flails. _She crashes onto June's legs, grabbing them in this cute, oblivious hug. "I drew you!"

_Thanks for that kid. You're just so clueless sometimes._

June throws a glare at me, raising a brow. "Yes, Rose," she then says, giving Rose a gentle look. _This amazing woman truly has some acting skill. _"Thank you. But you should use your board next time; the wall is not for drawing."

Rose's beaming smile fades. "But Daddy..."

"... why don't you take your board and draw your Mommy and the sweat there?" I snatch in, as the perfect inspiration rushes through. _Thank June for the extra parental wit. _"Or a paper." I throw June one of those winks which I know will make her blush. "I'm sure your Mommy would love to keep her hot picture."

"Really?" Rose whispers, looking up. "Will you put the picture of you in hot onesie on your desk Mommy?"

"A hot onesie?" June throws me a brief guilty look. She looks softer, more _sheepish, _as she sets Maya down and kneels to meet Rose's eyes. "Which suit do you mean, Rosebud?"

Rose grind."The one from last night!" She claps her hand hard, startling her older sister awake. "The one which made you hot."

"Last night?" June sounds _almost _genuinely surprised. "What was I in last night?"

Rose frowns and crosses her arms. "A hot onesie!" She exclaims, frustrated. "I was asleep, then you came in, and you had hot onesie on!"

June laughs, although her troubled eyes betray her supposed-amusement. "You must've been dreaming, Rosebud. But I'd love that picture on a sheet of paper, yes. Would you draw it for me?"

Rose pouts. "Okay," she then says, shrugging and prancing off. "But I wasn't dreaming. You had a hot onesie."

June says nothing as our middle kid heads out to the living room. She simply picks Maya up and jogs after Rose before our tornado-toddler can destroy more of this goddy apartment. _Such a joy, this whole parenting thing is. _I follow Dawn and Gilly the dog as they roll out of that bed and chase after _their _Mommy. Looks like breakfast duty's mine this morning.

I head to the kitchen as they all settle around the coffee table. I hear them all talking as I get around making our food; June and Dawn's hushed words, Maya's babbles, Gilly's soft whines, and Rose's giggly shouts which drowns them all. June doesn't look at me, not even once. As much as I'd like to think that she's just busy, I know 'busy' is a goddy lie. If June can talk to Dawn, bounce Maya, and stroke the dog's blond neck _while _keeping an eye on Rose and that drawing, surely she can spare me a look or two. I guess she's just not ready to share the story of her night with me. Again, I can understand - even though I can't not feel somewhat tense about it.

_Goddy hell._

It's only when June has sent our eldest two to dress for the day and left Maya on the playmat that she comes over. For someone who'd spent a lot of time learning how to not be predictable, Sweetheart's very much predictable with me. I can almost feel that amazing arm of hers before she circles it around my waist, can almost feel the top of her head before it touches my shoulder. Even close like this, though, she feels far away. Perhaps she is that far away right now.

"So." I turn to her and hand her a coffee cup - an upfront payment for her honesty. "Have I seen this hot onesie yet?"

She chuckles - although, again, her eyes betray her. "You'd better ask Rose about that."

"So, you don't know what you wore last night?" I raise a brow. That must've been one of those runner suits with spring joints. June likes having it on while roof-running - even when she'll do just fine without.

June chuckles again. She takes a casual sip of the coffee and turns to me with a smile some other lover would've bought. "It was Rose's dream."

"Are you sure you weren't sleepwalking - or sleep-jumping - or sleep-running?"

This time, she won't meet my eyes. She glances down at her coffee, then at Maya, then back at our bare feet on the kitchen floor. "... I think I wasn't," she says, some goddy long seconds later. "I'm sure."

Well, that technically isn't a lie. I know her more than _well enough_. I know everything she did last night was calculated. From that sneaky slip down the bed, to that climb out of the window, to the way she'd picked the automated window-lock when she came back - she must have spent some good time thinking of how to keep her secret. And she'd done well with that planning, actually. I'm sure she would've gotten away just fine, if only she'd married some other trot and had some ordinary kids.

"... guess Rose and I dreamed up the same thing, then." I try to grin to soften the blow. I don't like doing this. I don't like forcing June to tell me anything. But she's been bottling up so much of her pain, and I can't just let her tell yet another lie. Not after this goddy long story we share.

June shifts her weight, and takes a long, deep breath. "So," she says. Her voice sounds like a sigh. "How did you know?"

I take the mug from her and put it on the counter. "I was waiting for it to happen." I pull her close to me, and gently tilt her chin. I need her to know that I'm trying hard to set my anger aside; that I know I can't be mad at her for her secrets; that I'll still be here after she tells the truth. "I know where you've been these past few weeks. You -"

"Get down, Rosie!" Dawn's scream rings through the apartment. "You can't climb me!"

June lets out a long sigh and steps back. I let her go and let out my own sigh, as we head up to the kids' room to pull Rose away from Dawn. I guess we'll have to move fast and get that family home soon. This place's getting even too small for a healthy argument.

* * *

I don't get to talk to June again afterwards. By the time we manage to calm the kids down, that perfect moment was gone. I busy myself with getting ready instead, and June busies herself with the kids - wiping cereal off Rose's face, tying Dawn's hair up in a ponytail, carrying Maya around the living room. This morning, talking with June in the car after kid-drop-offs isn't an option either. It's one of her days off, and she's staying home with the younger kids today.

"Love you," she says, as she sneaks one awkward kiss at the door.

"Love you," I reply.

She kisses me once more - as awkward as the previous - before Dawn drags me down to the carpark. As much as I hate parting with June like this, I know I can't blame Dawn. We're cutting it rather fine for the start of my eldest's last day of kindergarten.

"... Rosie wasn't dreaming, Daddy" the kid says, out of the blue, once we're out on the highway to Batalla. "I also saw Mommy in some kind of onesie."

"Well, Dawn." I glance at her through the rearview mirror. Dawn's strapped on her seat, like a good girl. I can tell she would rather be free and run around, though - the kid looks restless. "I think you and Rose were right."

"Mommy went out somewhere." The kid stares out at the next car, looking just _grown up_ for a brief moment. "I only saw her when she came back, but she went somewhere."

"I know," I tell my kid, as I merge onto a faster lane. These goddy cars ahead are just so slow. Bet they don't know today's my little sweetheart's special day. "I think she just doesn't want us to know."

"Why?"

I take a deep breath, and focus hard on the road before me. There's no need to crash this car over such small emotions. "Your Mom keeps a lot of her hurt to herself."

Dawn takes a deep breath which mirrors mine. "Who hurt my Mommy?"

_A lot of people, kid, _I want to say. _Myself included. _But it's June's story, and the honour of telling it belongs to her only. So, I say instead, "I don't know who did it this time."

Dawn sighs. "I hope she's okay now."

_Well, _I throw my kid a smile from the mirror. _Same here, kid._

Hoping June is okay is a goddy unproductive way to be, though. By the time my mandatory morning briefing with the other intels is done, I'm already as restless as Dawn was in that carseat. There are cases to look at today, plans to make, and people to talk to - but I just can't stop thinking about June. I just want to go home to her, and make everything right again. I want her to take me back to her childhood home. I want her to cry her pain out. I want her to let it all out.

At around ten in the morning, I arrive at Ruby's Private Housing Office.

The small office is generic and bleak, with an old reception desk and a wall full of screens listing houses and their prices. It doesn't take me long to get the keys to _the _apartment. The flustered old man behind the desk practically blurt them out the second I mention the place's address, looking just goddy nervous. I don't know which of my reputations he has in mind.

And I don't care.

In less than an hour, I'm up in the building's fire staircase network, working my way up to June's old floor. Just like in those good old days, I'm alone this morning. I work better this way - and this business is kind of _personal. _I'm not going to go to June's secret place with some randoms who see it as just another house. The fact that I'm here in this building, without June and without her knowledge, is outrageous enough.

It feels almost perverse.

When I finally get to the apartment's front door, I pause and step back. My head is full of thoughts. My chest is odd with emotions. _This was June's home. This was her shelter, her world. _I can almost picture a much younger June standing where I am now, bouncing on her feet as her brother opened that door for her. I jab in the door key - quickly - before I lose it to the budding headache in my skull, and step in before I can change my mind. I can't lose this moment to pain - or to plain cowardice. For more than half of her life, June has carried both my pain and hers with me. This might as well be my only chance to take hers away, to do what she's always done for me.

I force myself to walk in, for the sake of my love to June.

The apartment is empty, a blank canvas at first sight - something rather underwhelming. As I let the door close and walk to the living room window, though, I start _feeling _it all; small echoes of June around the walls and the doors. She'd once been here. She'd once been happy, like I'd been in my mother's house in Lake. Like me, she once had a family. People who loved her, took care of her, allowed her to just be a kid - before she was the girl I once knew. Long before she was the woman I met in Batalla. Long before she is the June I know today.

And although I can't give her all of that love back, although I can't undo what happened to those people she'd loved in the past, I can give this back to her.

I throw a last glance at Ruby sector outside the window, and make my way back out. I have to get this place, _now_. June's birthday is just a few days away. I don't have present yet, and now I can't think of anything more perfect. She _wants _this. She wouldn't have made those visits otherwise - clearly not last night's. I don't care what she'll use this place for. This _is _her present. It'll be one of the most goddy expensive presents ever, and she'll probably scorch me for _wasting money _- but hell, I'm not stopping. I am getting this house. Probably haggle it down a bit with that stupid housing office, but I'm getting it.

"I'm going to take the apartment," I announce to the man behind the desk, once I'm back in that small office. "Is it possible to get it settled today? I'll pay your price if it's good."

The old man looks up at me like he'll do an angry gang lord. I guess I can look like one when I want to. "S-sure," he eventually manages to say, his eyes darting to the digital calendar on the wall - and to the stack of paper on his desk. "Just give me a couple of minutes, please."

"Take two hours if you want. I'll wait."

He mutters a squeaky 'thanks', and I leave him at that. I take one of the old leather seats across the listing boards, stretching my legs - the real and the metal. My right hand finds the wedding ring on my left, tapping it on and off. I guess I'm thinking about that old June my brain couldn't remember, somewhere in my subconscious. Where would she be, if I hadn't broken into that hospital the night her brother died? Would she be happier if she'd never been _my _June?

_Stop it, you goddy trot, _I chide myself. _She loves you._

I get up from my seat, and walk across to the listings to busy myself a little. They're full of addresses, prices, numbers of rooms and features. I smirk as I skim through the first board. June would memorize all that she sees here, just because. She'll be able to tell what these screens are made of, where they come from - little things ordinary people won't bother with. I kind of miss her already, even though it's only been a couple of hours.

"Uh, Mr. Wing?"

I turn warily to the guy behind the desk - the guy who's supposed to prepare my sale, not spy on me. "Yeah?"

He _shrinks. _Apparently, I'm scary. "There's a newly available property similar to the one you want. You might like it better"

_Unlikely. _But I guess he can tell me where it is. "Is it here on the list?"

"Not yet," the guy answers, nervously wiping his sweaty face. "But I can show you the pictures if you want. It's on the same building, on the same floor - I think it's even next to the one you chose..."

"You think?" I cut him off. Something buzzes in my ears. If that is true, this would be the best birthday present ever.

"Yes," the guy says, wiping his face again, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure, but..."

"Give me the unit number." I pull out my intel-tab, not wanting to waste more time with this fumbling guy. "I'll look up where it is on the building plan."

* * *

June keeps her dignified silence when I come home that night - almost three hours after the loose curfew she put on me. She just kisses me with that silent passion she always keeps, welcomes me home and gives her updates on the kids. I take as much as my tired brain would allow, and give her as little detail as possible about my day. Better keep the surprise safe, yeah?

"The housing market is not looking good," she says, later as we lay in bed. "I got two calls for two different four-bedroom apartments this afternoon, but they are way too far from Batalla."

"Then we're not taking those." I open my eyes to study her face. _Goddy hell, she's beautiful._ "Better not let the kids grow old on the road."

She chuckles. "You know we can always send them to the local schools."

"Would you want to, though?" Because, I don't. My kids are brilliant. They deserve to go to good schools where they'll learn from the best of teachers. Not just any school where they'll learn pecking order, fist fights, and snogging.

June sighs. "... I don't think I do. Remember when we helped your colleagues busting that high-school drug ring?"

"Of course." I cringe at the memory. It happened just before we found out June was pregnant for the second time. These teens were selling homemade drugs to their friends at recess, and beating up each other over the debts. We arrested nearly a dozen of them back then. Most of them ended up in youth rehab schools. I think the two head drug lords are still there today, being some kind of poster-reforms. "Teenagers nowadays."

"Indeed." June agrees.

That night, June doesn't sneak out again. She stays by me the whole night, exactly where she was when we fell asleep. And the day after the next, she doesn't stop by her old home. The tracker on Gilly's chip shows they'd taken one of their other routes, the one which goes through the small park that dog loves. Perhaps June had looked up once, glimpsed those builders I hired - and assumed all her hope was lost.

Sometimes, I am indeed a trot.

Throughout the next week, she stays away from that place, and stays in bed throughout the night. She'll glance out of the window occasionally, and scrunch up her face when I come home _late _again, but otherwise our days are normal. She sighs, but relents when I ask her to take her birthday off. She frowns, but says nothing when I pick her up from work on July 10, without our kids in tow.

"What's happening?" she finally asks, when we reach the Batalla station. "Where are the girls?"

"At Tess and Eden's," I say, looking at her. Under the darkening sky and the bright lights of Batalla, she looks exactly like the living piece of memory I saw on my first day back from Ross City. "Thought we should have a small break tonight. It's been, like, a month since our last date night, yeah?"

She sighs. "I hope we don't confuse the girls. I told them I'd be home tonight."

_Well, those little sweethearts know what's happening tonight. _"Dawn will tell Rose and Maya where we go," I give her half of the truth. "I doubt they'll still think about it tomorrow."

She sighs again, but she lets me hold her hand as we wait at the crowded platform. I can't help but feeling a little guilty for this set up. I know just how hard it is for her to leave our girls overnight. She always wants to be with them, to give them as many memories of her as she can. And in some ways, I can understand. June was just about Maya's current age when she lost her own parents.

"We'll be okay," I tell June, once we've boarded the train to Union. "I'm safe with you, yeah? You're a decent shot."

She laughs, but that hint of secret sadness stays in her eyes.

I try not to push it all too much as I guide June around L.A. I try to drink in her reminiscent happiness as we walk the Lake Sector streets, to lose myself in her as we kiss next to a dumpster. I try to enjoy the food and her story of her day, as we sit down at the Tanagashi cafe she ate in _every single week _when she was pregnant with Dawn. I try to let go of all thoughts when we fall onto our bed in Ruby, to love all of her as she loves all of me. But as midnight creeps closer, the big moment becomes more real, and the doubt starts.

This might end up really, really badly.

"You've got something in mind," June says, as we refill our energy with hot chocolate after the vigorous, err, _action_. There is worry - a goddy obvious one - in her otherwise-flat tone. "Was it something I did tonight?"

I mute that little devil's voice which tells me to get even with her in lies. "No," I tell her. "Just... stuff."

"Such as?"

"Another baby." I throw her one of those crooked smiles she's crazy about.

She punches me hard on my arm and glares. "_Daniel_. That's not funny."

"Alright, Sweetheart." I throw my free hand in the air. It's almost time now; I can give her the truth. "I've got one other thing planned for us tonight."

She glances down at the half-full drinks, at the frizzy-towel bathrobes we have on, at the digital clock on the wall, and at the night outside. "At this hour?"

I raise a brow. "We're not that old yet."

"But tomorrow..."

"Come on." I stand up and offer my hand. Screw waiting. I'll just do this now. "It's now, or never."

June throws me one real dirty look, but follows me back to the bedroom anyway. She waits patiently while I dig up the runner suits from my messy half-of-wardrobe, and put hers on despite that slight scowl on her face. She goes along in silence, as I replicate what she did those many days ago and climb up to the roof. She looks at me in a tense quiet when I give her a kiss under the stars, not bothering to hide her flickering million of thoughts. "Where are we going?"

"Home," I say, glancing away at our new home. "We're going home."

"But this is home."

"Not for much longer. I've booked the moving truck for next week."

"What is happening?" Her eyes shoot open wide. "You bought a house, and didn't tell me?"

"Pretty much."

"But -"

June stops. Her tense shoulders drop, and she looks down.

"Guess I didn't tell you everything either," she says softly.

"Yeah," I agree. "You didn't admit you went out that night."

She closes her eyes, grimacing in pain and sadness. "I..."

"Ssh." I hold her close. "You don't have to explain."

She tenses, and shudders in my arms. I can tell she's trying hard not to break down, to hold her emotions in like she usually does, to be the June Iparis the world knows.

"... I just wanted to see my old apartment," she confesses eventually, her voice strong and steady. "I'd never made peace with it before."

"I know." I kiss her forehead. "I know what it means to you. And that's why you need to stop apologizing and get going."

"Where are we going?" Her fierce eyes bore into mine, curious and cautious.

"Come on." I offer her my hand, again. "I'll show you."

**Next: June**


	3. June (2)

**Disclaimer: Legend Trilogy and its characters belong to Marie Lu.**

Happy birthday to Marie Lu and June, who were both born on July 11!

* * *

**June**

Day takes me down a rooftop route I've never taken before. It's three and a half stories higher than what I would usually consider, with less buildings and wider gaps. I fold all my questions in as I follow him through the mild summer night. Our years of blissful romance haven't turned me slack, when it comes to understanding him. If anything, I've learned to read Day - the adult Day - like an open book, to decipher all his accidental hints and his many expressions. I know where we are going. I know what he has done.

My heartbeat picks up when he eventually changes course. I've been on this route just eleven days ago, alone and with a resolution, knowing what I was doing. Tonight, I'm putting my faith in the partner I've chosen and loved, carefully weighing my worth in his eyes and in reality. Day _adores _me. He'd cared deeply about me when we were children. He'd cared deeply about me when we were a new couple starting over. He has cared deeply about me throughout our next years together, through every argument and every declaration of love.

He always cares about me, no matter what it will cost him.

A strange warmth fills my blood as we land on the building next to this 'new' home. I haven't been here for days; not since that day I caught glimpses of brightly dressed builders behind the balcony's glass door. I assumed my childhood home had found a good new family, that it was time for me to move on for real. It had never really crossed my mind that it would be my home, again. That Day would again embrace something he shouldn't have cared about.

"Why?" I turn my head to him. Shame washes over me. I can't believe I'd led him down into the depths of my troubles again. I can't believe how little I'd learned, after more than half of a lifetime. I should have known this would happen. I should have known Day wouldn't have let this go.

Day smiles. Under the dim light, he looks like the angel I saw in that trainyard on that gloomy December day, nineteen years and seven months ago. Only, he is no longer broken. He is whole, and _hopeful, _and gentle this time. An angel who grants wishes.

"Trot," I mutter under my breath. I clench my fists, and turn away, so that he doesn't see my tears. I don't deserve this. I can't accept this from Day, when I can never return the bits of happiness I took so cruelly from him when we were fifteen. Regret stifles me, and I have to take two deep breaths, before I manage to repeat my question. "Why did you do this to me, Daniel?"

He takes a deep, uncertain breath.

"... because you've been thinking about it all these past weeks" he answers, his voice thick. "Because you'd once been really happy there, and I want you to be that happy again. Because it was your home."

He pauses, and closes the two feet between us. I fight the urge to leave and run, as he pulls me into yet another hug I don't deserve. "I would've given _them _back if I could, June." He kisses the top of my head. "But this is all I can afford now."

The tears I've been fighting spill down my face. After all these years, I've made a peace with my past. I've accepted the weight of all that I'd done; understood I can never take my words back and erase all the pain I caused others. I've moved on. But it's hard not to feel the gravity of my regrets in moments like this, when I can see the full extent of Day's love to me. He doesn't have to do this. He could have moved on and been with someone who had never hurt him the way I did, just like I'd wished him to. But he came back to me, and chose to be with me. He forgave me.

Even when I don't deserve it.

I let myself cry a bit more, before I pull away and turn back to the home Day bought me. Day puts his arm around me, and I lean my head on his shoulder - suddenly tired, suddenly glad he is here and I'm with him.

"You know, " he whispers, again pressing a kiss on my head. "It's alright. I know you're _hurt_, and it's fine. You don't always have to be the strong one. You've got to let me be the hero sometimes, yeah? I kind of miss that glory."

I nod, letting myself smile a little. It sounds like a fair proposition.

"Would you lead the way there, then?" I give him his first task. "I'm not quite sure which door I should enter from."

He grins - and leaps ahead, to the balcony I'd sat at those nights ago. I wait two seconds before I make my own leap, landing right in his waiting arms. He bows as he opens the balcony door (newly childproofed, undoubtedly for our girls) for me. I hold in a breath as I walk in before him, taking in all the sparse rooms. A large living room with polished cherrywood floor, and tall cabinets nailed into the wall. Five open bedroom doors, showing a one hundred and ninety square feet master, a smaller master, and three smaller bedrooms - he has kept them where they were before. The kitchen, with its dark marble countertop and new ceramic stovetop. The bathroom with white tiles which look new. My eyes linger on the beams, which marked where the wall separating the two apartments used to be. Without that wall, these apartments look like a new place - like our home, a new space for us to fill. It feels different, yet somehow familiar. It feels like _now, _where all the jagged pieces of my past converge in a continuum, scarred and marked but unbroken.

I think I like it. And I know Metias would have been really, really happy to see me here again, safe with Day and my girls.

With my _family, _at our home.

"Chalkboard paint," I tell Day, as he closes that bulletproof glass balcony door. I run my hand on the closest wall, confirming my suspicion. "Tile grout and acrylic. Washable. Rose-proofed."

He grins. "Glad you love your present."

"You're cracked." I shake my head.

"Happy birthday. I love you."

We laugh at ourselves, and share our first kiss - out of the many we will have as long as time and fate allow - in our new home. I think I like this birthday.

"Know what?" Day then says, pulling two red chalk sticks out of a pocket on his suit. "Let's test this goddy expensive paint. There must be somewhere Rose got that talent from, yeah?"

He then lowers his voice, and whispers. "Your onesie is indeed hot."

I punch his arm - and grin, as I take a chalk and rise to the challenge. Looks like our first night home will be yet another story I'll tell our girls, somewhere in a distant future.


End file.
